


Beneath The Surface

by Thea_K



Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Author has no idea how her brain joined these random concepts, Ed Sheeran's in it, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, Massage trope!, Oneshot, Randomness, Taka Being A Little Shit, Tattoos, Tattoos and emotional vulnerabilities, blink and you'll miss him, joke's on him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_K/pseuds/Thea_K
Summary: The others are covered in them. If Tomoya's tattoos are aesthetically pleasing but don't betray his private mind, and Ryota's are an extension of his impulsiveness, well... simply put, Taka's ones are his heart externalised. The others are covered in them, and Toru alone is not.(Or, the one where the band indulge in their hotel's private onsen after a live performance, and nakedness is the least of Toru's worries.)
Relationships: Morita Takahiro/Yamashita Toru, Moriuchi Takahiro/Yamashita Toru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Beneath The Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Another week's gone by and no sign of our beloved band 😭
> 
> In the interm, here's my bored mind let loose! 😅
> 
> Translations at the end.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and not meant to offend.

The others are covered in them.

The canvas of, for example, Tomoya's skin is swathed with beautifully bold, symmetrically placed designs that reflect the the precision and style with which he also imbues his drum work.

Ryota's ink, on the other hand, is more spontaneous and piecemeal. Their randomness belies his M.O: no need to overthink, just go with what feels right in the moment. Like removing your shirt halfway through a concert because it was hot and bothering you. Stay fool, stay cool indeed.

And Taka. If Tomoya's tattoos are aesthetically pleasing but don't betray his private mind, and Ryota's are an extension of his impulsiveness, well... simply put, Taka's ones are his heart externalised. The philosophies the smaller man lives by, the symbols of the things and people he holds dear, and even an actual cartoon representation of his own heart (torn and mended). You could say that the vocalist had found a way to turn his internal scars into deliberately tangible ones that add to his appeal: a corporeal _kintsugi._

Toru ruminates on these thoughts as they sit on tiny wooden stools at a respectable distance to each other, bucketing water over their tired limbs. He washes his hair and then watches the suds slide towards the gutter that gathers their collective efflux.

The others are covered in them, and he alone is not.

When he finally joins them in the scalding hot water, Toru lets out a hiss that has them turning their initially averted gazes. They chuckle over his abysmally low pain threshold.

"Such a baby," Taka teases. Yet through hooded eyes, the vocalist surreptitiously watches the guitarist gingerly lowering his torso into the bath, inch by inch. Toru's skin prickles with pain and hyperawareness both.

For his sanity, the guitarist chooses to ignore the other man's rapt attention. When he's finally seated and manspreaded himself on the underwater ledge, Toru directs his gaze to the difference in how much their shoulders protrude above the water. The vocalist's are completely submerged while the water laps just below the guitarist's clavicle. He catches the vocalist's gaze and he smirks.

Taka rolls his eyes at this ongoing joke and turns away, pretending to be annoyed.

In the furthest corner, Tomoya has fallen quiet and closed his eyes. His penchant for falling asleep in any setting will undoubtedly manifest, soon. His lack of a response to a playful splash by Taka confirms this.

"Ah, _kimochi ii_ ," Ryota sighs, meanwhile, spreading his arms along the edge of the private _onsen_. He moves his head backwards, and looks to be stretching out his aching back by the way he turns his torso this way and that. The amount of space the bassist commandeers and the sloshing water in the wake of his movements soon has Taka backing away from him and encroaching on Toru's territory.

The vocalist collides with Toru's chest and he turns around to find their faces - and bodies for that matter - at a close distance. Toru stays put, trapped between the smaller man and the wall he's leaning against.

" _Gomen_ ," Taka says, from behind a fringe that is flattened in the moist air and dripping on his face. To a stranger his voice would sound contrite, but Toru is well-versed at reading the microexpression that flickers across his face; it tells the guitarist that the vocalist is anything but.

Still within Toru's personal sphere, Taka runs a hand through the strands that veil his face to push them backwards. Tilting his head back draws the guitarist's gaze to his slightly opened mouth and then to the smaller man's eyes, which are still smudged with kohl from their earlier performance. The rimmed eyes are seemingly impassive but watch carefully for his response. How he the smaller man still has energy to be fucking around with him, the taller man doesn't know.

Toru stutters a dismissive " _uuuunn_ " and throws a glance at Ryota, who has raised his head and watches the interaction with vague curiosity. The guitarist hopes that the pink that rises in his cheeks will be construed as nothing more than a reaction to the scorching heat of the environs. He glares at the vocalist, who bites his bottom lip with amusement.

After a beat, Taka mercifully steps away and settles himself on the side of the guitarist that's away from the others. His head lolls back and he preoccupies himself with staring up at the low wooden ceiling, counting the droplets that condense there as if they were stars in the night sky. Across them, Ryota lowers his head and resumes what he assumes is stretching his back underwater.

The four sit in companionable silence, separated by a thick steam that adds to the blurry haze of their tiredness. The scene is scored only by the running of the water that supplies the _onsen_ , the swish of Ryota's movements and the occasional deep exhale from Tomoya.

Toru's thoughts turn inwards while he tries to move as little as possible, since the tiniest of movements reawakens the pain that is made only barely bearable by stillness.

Picking up the ends of his earlier thoughts, he acknowledges that his lack of body ink goes beyond his aversion to needles. At his very core, Toru knows that he is scared of more than just physical pain.

Through the years he's watched the others put themselves out there in the public eye and _just be themselves_ despite the potential for failure and ridicule. He thinks of Tomoya, who is quietly confident in his virtuosity. And Ryota, whose loveable innocence can't even fathom that people would be cruel enough to sneer at his efforts.

This potential for rejection strikes a paralysing fear into Toru's heart that he carefully hides behind his cool and unaffected persona. By extension, he refuses to outwardly commit to anything or anyone (let alone to something permanently etched on his skin), besides the band.

But then there's Taka, who would rather die than live smothered with the expectations of others. His need to truly express himself - his silliness and personal pain - burns though any pretenses of being a rockstar beyond the reach of the masses.

The self confidence the vocalist exudes has always been a powerful magnet for Toru, who Ed had mistaken for the vocalist's lover during their recent stint at the recording studio in London.

"Can't keep your paws off him, can you?" the ginger-haired singer had joked as he noted how Toru close sat to the vocalist and the way he patiently rearranged a chortling Taka's fingers whenever the latter strummed a bung chord. Toru's face had never flushed red faster in his life when he realised the implication.

A startled Taka had laughed it off, but Toru still remembers the considering look that crept over the smaller man's face, after.

The aftermath of that the incident was that it had awakened Toru to the dilemma of whether he wanted to be Taka. (Or, in the inner sanctum of his thoughts, to do unspeakably dirty things to him; or both). He pushes these unwanted thoughts deep beneath the surface, but they burble up through the depths, sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes provoked.

Yes, Taka, who, since then, is apparently on a mission to pick away at Toru's denial with every planned bit of 'fanservice', and every second he lets his knowing eyes linger on Toru's face, body, or anything really.

The same Taka, whose hand is currently availing of the cover of steam to brush secretive fingers against the inside of Toru's left thigh. Blunt fingernails begin to scrape a daring trail up towards the juncture of the guitarist's legs.

The guitarist covers up his strangled gasp by pretending to yawn. 

Taka turns his head and the smoulder in his eyes is barely disguised. The vocalist lifts his eyebrow in seeming question, but Toru knows it's meant to goad him as much as his wandering fingers are. 

“Something wrong, Toru- _nii_?” Ryota asks, concerned.

The guitarist lets out a shaky exhale through his nose and winces.

“Nothing - just a cramp,” Toru lies through his teeth.

"Where?" the bassist asks innocently, to which the guitarist, eyes darting between him and his assailant, pointedly replies: "Thigh."

Ryota tries to peer through the steam and refraction of the moving water, causing the wandering fingers to retreat. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to see there's anything amiss.

"Maybe get it massaged?" the bassist suggests.

"You wa-" Taka starts to offer, but he is cut off by Toru's adamant: "No."

Ryota's forehead crinkles at the rapid-fire exchange.

The guitarist thanks his lucky stars he was able to read ahead of whatever scheme the vocalist is concocting to again to push him past the edge of comfort. His quick parry sets off a pout of the vocalist's lips, which Toru is hell-bent on _not_ focusing on, lest he breaks under their allure. His gaze ends up meeting the vocalist's, which suddenly twinkle with deviousness.

"If you don't want a massage...” the smaller man drawls, from where his head rests oh-so-casually on the _onsen_ 's edge, facing the guitarist.

Toru knows that tone of voice, and a dread creeps up his spine.

Taka slowly lifts his head, never breaking their eye contact.

"Do my back instead?" the vocalist says, licking his lips.

And Toru, who is a weak, weak man, nods in acquiescence. He blames the heat and his fatigue for not being able to come up with an excuse to refuse.

Hiding a smile, the vocalist turns around in the water and bracing his loosely folded arms on the stone floor surrounding the bath, places his head on it. The guitarist wades over until he is right behind and in between the vocalist's spread legs that are knelt on the underwater ledge.

Toru eyes the slenderness of his shoulders and admires the sharpened contrast of the mostly black tattoos on the smaller man's wet skin. His stare falls on a particular one about thoughts becoming actions, eventually becoming destiny. The irony of it is that, when he blinks, his hands are already on Taka's skin without the taller man realising it.

Toru's heart rate rockets, and in a last ditch attempt to back out, he says in what he hopes is a steady voice:

"You sure you don't want Ryota to do this? I mean, you can help each other out since both of your backs hurt."

"Nah," Taka replies, voice muffled against the stone, "I want you."

"Go hard," Ryota says in jest from behind them, thinking back to a tour bus interview, "he likes that."

Tomoya coughs in his sleep, precise in his timing apparently even when unconscious.

Demise by double entendre would make for an interesting death certificate, Toru's mind unhelpfully snarks. He shakes his head as he kneads Taka's scapular muscles with his thumbs. He takes his time, feeling for knots before applying more pressure when he finds them. He hates it when someone indiscriminately applies pressure when he's being given a massage; he knows it hurts to a massage a place that wasn't hurting in the first place.

"Lower," Taka orders, like the little emperor he is.

Toru's hands make their way to the smaller man's mid-back but he's spurred on further by a repeat of the command. Taking a deep breath, the guitarist wraps the fingers of both hands around the vocalist's petite hips, while his thumbs soothe the area around the other's tail bone. He tries very hard not to think about the position they’ve assumed. One half of him hopes the other man will behave; the other half hopes he won’t. 

Although he expects them, the hands on his hips makes Taka’s breath catch and his initial purpose of teasing the guitarist into breaking his stoic facade falls away under the careful ministrations. He had wanted to see if he could force the other reveal some sort of annoyance, confusion, anger - at least _something_ \- to show that the vocalist wasn’t the only one finding that the lines that separate them are becoming increasingly blurred after Ed had brought their changing behaviours to light. But the fingers on him are respectful and gentle, and it is the vocalist who finds himself being brought close to the edge of breaking. The guitarist's touch is simultaneously enough, and not enough. 

Taka whimpers involuntarily.

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell and rolled over tonight?” The guitarist murmurs, looking up from where he’s concentrating on loosening the tight ligaments beneath this thumbs.

He is forced to let go when the vocalist suddenly turns about-face. Toru’s hands float downwards in the water to dangle by his side; he no longer registers the pain of the scalding water.

Taka’s eyes search the guitarist’s, which stare down his, and finds they are a quiet storm of emotions.

In the depths, he sees fear. Fear of what this weird thing between them that takes clearer shape with every moment. Fear of what it means for the guitarist’s assumed preferences, fear of the others would think, fear of what society might condemn them of, if the guitarist gives in. In the mix, Taka sees the undercurrent of lust, too. 

But shining through all of that, he sees a concern for the vocalist, first and foremost. The sentiment is laid bare to him alone, as clearly as if it were writ with ink on the taller man’s skin. They remind him of the soft look that had distracted him from playing the right chord in the first place, that time with Ed. All Taka wants to do is bask in it.

The vocalist inhales sharply when his mind finally gives a name to the intangible thing that sits between he and the guitarist, more suffocating that the humid heat that surrounds them. A dizziness rolls through him. 

“Mori- _chan_?” Ryota’s question cuts through the silent exchange.

“I-” 

Toru tilts his head slightly, worried when the usually loquacious vocalist is apparently at a loss for words.

“I, uh, think... _this_ is getting to me,” Taka gestures vaguely to his surroundings, but Toru suspects different. The smaller man’s voice is barely audible above the running water.

“Let’s get you out of here,” the guitarist says softly, not missing the vulnerability that now coats the smaller man’s aura.

“Do you want me to help?” Ryota sits up, before he is waved down by Toru.

“It’s okay, I’ve got him,” the band’s leader says, helping Taka up and out of the bath and towards the hooks where their discarded room _yukata_ hang.

The bassist remains frigid with worry as he watches Toru fetch a _yukata_ and wrap it around their uncharacteristically quiet vocalist. But then he sees the fire reignite in the smaller man’s eyes as he’s revived by the cold air. Ryota doesn’t miss the salacious rake of those eyes down the guitarist’s frame when the taller man turns his back to don his own _yukata_. 

The bassist’s worries are well-assuaged by the time the pair shuffle out, with the guitarist’s hand placed on the small of the vocalist’s back to presumably steer him back to their shared room.

He sinks back down into the water, examining his now prune-y fingertips.

Tomoya, cracking open a clear eye, mutters, “What a plot twist.”

Ryota jumps at his voice.

“ _Bikkurishita!_ ” the bassist exclaims, rubbing at his chest, below where the semi-circle of tattooed stars dips lowest.

Tomoya merely blinks innocently.

“I thought tonight was finally the night our illustrious leader would give in to Taka’s obvious seduction techniques,” the drummer yawns, stretching out his arms above his head.

“Turns out our emperor’s fallen head over heels for Toru instead,” he continues, stretching his neck from side to side.

“I don’t get why Toru- _nii’s_ so scared about admitting his feelings,” Ryota says, after he’s recovered from his shock, “they’ve been flirting around for ages... soooo obvious.”

“Yeah,” Tomoya concurs as they finally drag themselves out of the _onsen_ and begin to towel themselves off, “might as well be tattooed all over him.”

They laugh.

_**Owari.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
> onsen - a natural hot spring; here the one they're in is a small covered one, attached to the hotel's facilities.  
> kintsugi - the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with a lacquer glue mixed with gold or silver. Really pretty!  
> kimochi ii - literally meaning 'good feeling', a phrase used to mean 'it feels good'.  
> gomen - extremely casual way of saying sorry.  
> Uuuuun - casual way of saying no.  
> -nii - a casual way to refer to someone's older brother, or a close male friend  
> -chan - a casual way to refer to a small child, or someone you're very close to (with a 'cute' connotation)  
> yukata- a thin Japanese garment usually worn in summer, in hotels and during festivals  
> bikkurishita! - you surprised me!
> 
> I'm sorry if you were expecting quality writing and/or gratuitous description of their nakedness lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this fun little oneshot 😇 Lmk what you think, and what you would like Toru's first tattoo to be if he ever gets one!


End file.
